


Transient

by FreeTheSoul



Series: ab aeterno [1]
Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Developing Relationship, Gen, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-09-05 13:26:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16811536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreeTheSoul/pseuds/FreeTheSoul
Summary: Their meeting is bitter. Their relationship is fleeting.Tragedy is the inevitable.





	1. Escape, Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> Wanted to experiment with some ideas. Sandalphon's backstory is largely untold, and I find it fascinating. 
> 
> Everything between him, Lucifer, and Lucilius is almost like some kind of horrible, tragic soap opera. It's fun.
> 
> FaaFeru implications later, maybe.

A man stumbles through a maze of hallways, in a place that’s supposed to be heaven.

Every white-walled corridor he passes through feels like a repeat of the last, but he knows he has to be heading the right way. They still haven’t caught him - that has to mean something.

There’s a gash in the back of one of his calves from one of the researchers who managed to injure him, and the bloodstain has long since crept up his white patient’s gown. His feet are bare and covered in dirt and drying blood, but he doesn’t have time to worry about his appearance right now.

He has to get outside. Even if it kills him, he has to escape. If he gets dragged back to the laboratories, he knows how it’s going to end: he’s either going to go insane, or he’s going to die. He’s already seen it happen to the other angels too many times to count.

His foot is starting to drag on the floor behind him, but he’s still pushing to move as fast as he can. If he stops, hesitates, or so much as slows down, he knows they’re going to find him. The trail of blood splatters that he’s leaving behind so much as confirms that. 

In the distance, he can hear one of the researchers yelling something, but they’re still far enough away that he has a chance. 

He’s rounding another corner when it happens. It’s not the first time he encountered someone else, but before he was able to surprise them enough to make an escape. This time, though, he curses himself for letting his mind wander: he walked straight into someone, and there’s an arm holding him steady before he has the presence of mind to escape from it.

In a rush, Sandalphon’s head snaps upward. His eyes go wide when he sees the face of the man in front of him - the stress and fading adrenaline is making his vision haze, but he would recognize it anywhere.

If he had the time to laugh, he’d find it funny how bad his luck has to be to walk straight into Lucilius when he’s almost made it out.

Everything that happens next is a flurry of frenzied movements. He doesn’t remember unfurling his wings, but he can feel the strain on his back as they flap desperately. He’s got his nails, unkempt and sharp, digging into the man’s upper arm in an attempt to make him let go, but Lucilius’s grip is strong on his shoulders. In a fit of desperation, he kicks in the vague direction of his knees and lunges to bite at his forearm.

This is enough to shock Lucilius into letting go, and Sandalphon is left to fall backwards with unexpected momentum. He slams into the wall behind him and coughs out some spit that mixes with the blood on the floor, barely managing to steady himself as his loose feathers float down around both of them. Daintily, Lucilius plucks one out of the air to examine it briefly.

“Brown and cream,” he murmurs thoughtfully, then turns to peer at Sandalphon. 

It’s an odd comment. But-- Sandalphon doesn’t have the time or energy to ponder it. Right now, it’s all he can do to stop himself from collapsing from nausea and blood loss.

He may have gotten out of his grip, but they’re still within a few feet of each other and, moreover, he has no way of getting around someone else in such a narrow hallway. He doesn’t know why Lucilius isn’t taking advantage of his hesitation to grab him again before he can get away, or why he looks so shocked by the blood on the floor under him, or why he’s dressed in such strange clothing, but his mind is racing far too fast to think about it for longer than a passing moment. His escape had been timed for one of the rare opportunities when Lucilius was out of the labs - maybe he just hadn’t heard about it yet. It’s a hopeful thought so, quickly, he improvises.

“I-I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have done that, I know I shouldn’t! P-Please don’t hurt me, I promise I won’t try to escape again, I...” He collapses on the floor, feigning a string of sobbing apologies to buy time while he takes in his surroundings. He can’t go back, but forward is risky, too-- 

He’s running through a dozen options in his head, each less likely of success than the last, when he finds himself interrupted by a voice.

“I must apologize, but…” It’s Lucilius who’s talking, but something about his voice feels unfamiliar. The way his brows are faintly knitting is far more gentle than any expression he’s ever seen, too. “What are you doing…?”

The man takes a hesitant step towards him, and Sandalphon instinctively springs back up to his feet and steps backward into the wall again. In doing so, he inadvertently hits his head, and this is the straw that breaks him. There’s an instant where everything goes black, and he stumbles forward before his injured leg finally gives in, too, and he’s unable to stop himself from falling into the chest of the man in front of him. As if on some protective impulse, he feels a hand move to support him.

This must be some cruel, cruel joke.

It’s not Lucilius, Sandalphon realizes in the back of his mind, and that’s the last thought he has before he slips out of the man’s arms and collapses to the floor.


	2. Progression

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, four months later. I've had things drafted, it's just like this sometimes. Updates should hopefully be actually regular from now on.

When Sandalphon opens his eyes, the room he’s in is so dark that it takes him a moment to register that he’s even conscious.

His first thought is that he’s surprised to still be alive.

His second thought, which comes immediately after and that he finds slightly more pressing, is that he has no idea where he is.

All the panic from before he collapsed rushes back to the surface, but it’s when he tries to get up that he figures out that he can barely move. Just as quickly, he recognizes the feeling of being heavily sedated. Sandalphon knows that he’s lost; he won’t get another chance of escaping the labs, and the thought of the punishment waiting for him makes him shiver. Still, whether it’s the effect of the sedation or simply the overwhelming sense of defeat, he finds it hard to make himself feel anything other than apathy.

He feels, in the end, few qualms with dying. The entirety of his brief life has been miserable, and if he can’t even escape it, what’s the point of living?

For better or for worse, Sandalphon finds that he’s been given little time to mope about it. A voice floats up from somewhere else in the room, and he focuses his full attention on eavesdropping.

“It was an _accident,_ Lucifer. He panicked. Why would I damage a specimen on purpose?” There’s exhaustion in the voice, as if this isn’t the first time this has been explained. Sandalphon’s heart races, recognizing its owner without even having to look.

“...You told me that he was still unconscious. Still in his cocoon, in fact.”

The second voice is eerily similar to the first, and it takes Sandalphon a moment to realize that it is not Lucilius talking to himself. It must be the man he had encountered in the halls-- Lucifer. He had heard of him from the other primarch test subjects, revered and feared all at once by them, but he knew little about the man other than his duty. He supposes, numbly, that he should have recognized him upon their encounter - it was well-known that he was a mirror of his master.

The conversation continues, despite Sandalphon’s trailing thoughts:

“He woke up early. I decided to run some tests. Early integration could be dangerous, and you know he’s supposed to be a special project.”

The response that comes is taut, strained by underlying frustration. “My friend, he is my sole creation.”

“Lucifer, he may be your creation, but that does not make him _yours_ _._ Or,” Lucilius pauses, his next words spoken carefully, “would you agree that you belong to me, then?”

A dissatisfied noise, before Lucifer continues. “Is it not dangerous to have him injured? To have him collapse? His core was already wavering. You are well aware that newly formed primals are highly malleable.”

A sigh, then: “Lucifer, don’t you trust me?” There’s the sound of footsteps, then fabric shuffling. All of Sandalphon’s limbs feel weighed down, but he manages to turn his head enough to catch a glimpse of the two of them. A gloved hand is caressing Lucifer’s cheek, fingers playing with a few strands of his hair. “I would never lie to you.”

The room is quiet enough that Sandalphon would have been able to hear his heartbeat, if angels had hearts. Instead, he shuts his eyes again, wary that he may be caught spying on the two of them.

Lucifer’s voice, as quiet as can be, eventually rises. “You swear it, my friend?”

“Of course I do,” is the quick, low reply. “You are my companion, above all else. Enough of this for now, however. Thanks to this mess, I have a headache of administrative matters to attend to.”

A clicking sound, then light streams into the dim room. Slowly, Sandalphon slides an eye open to peer at its source - the open doorway, silhouetted by Lucilius as Lucifer stands back, watching him depart.

“We shall resume this later. Take care of what we discussed.”

The room is shut back into a muted darkness. Lucifer remains still for a long pause, wings tucked neatly behind his back and hiding his face from sight.

A long, tired sigh cuts through the heavy air, and then Lucifer’s wings shuffle slightly as he finally moves. Quickly, Sandalphon shuts his eyes again before he can turn around and catch him. He’s never heard any _bad_ rumors circulating about Lucifer - but, at the same time, he hasn’t really heard any rumors at all. For someone so important, it’s almost startling how little the lab angels know about him.

Sandalphon supposes it’s reasonable. The laboratories are disgusting and soaked in blood and death: it is no place for the purity of the Supreme Primarch.

In his head, he follows the click of Lucifer’s shoes as he moves to and fro across the room. The repetition is calming enough that Sandalphon is on the verge of actually falling asleep, when:

“Sandalphon,” a voice suddenly whispers from right beside him.

The sedatives must be wearing off, because when it startles him he manages to move more than he could before. When he turns his head, he realizes that Lucifer has crouched down beside the bed, wide blue eyes watching him with measured care.

“Ah, you are awake,” Lucifer murmurs, half to himself. “I must apologize, this is all quite sudden. I brought you to rest in my room,” he explains, and his face softens. “I am grateful to finally meet you.”

His smile is gentle and encouraging, and Sandalphon shies away from it. He has not done anything to deserve being smiled at, after all. The idea of kindness makes him nervous, if not outright distrusting, after all of his experiences with the cruel and self-serving laboratory attendants.

After a contemplative moment, Lucifer continues. “My name is Lucifer, Sandalphon. I am… ah, your creator, but there is no need to be formal.”

Sandalphon blinks, still trying to chase the sleep from his mind when he realizes that he is expected to give a response. He shuffles himself around until he’s in a more respectful position, seated stiffly on the edge of the bed. In response, Lucifer stands back up from where he’d been crouching.

“You are the… Supreme Primarch, correct?” His mouth goes dry and he swallows, looking up hopefully for any signs of Lucifer’s approval. “I-It is an honor to meet you.”

Instead, Lucifer’s expression turns downcast, and the thought of already disappointing him leaves a hot, prickling feeling under Sandalphon’s skin and a rush of blood in his ears. He hangs his head to avoid keeping eye contact and, desperate not to linger on it, hurries to fill the silence.

“I, ah, my lord, I’m sorry for my… actions, earlier. When we met in the hallway. I hope I didn’t harm you.” His fingers grip the thin fabric of his medical gown. As he stares down into his lap, he realizes that there are still bloodstains on his clothing. For a moment, he had forgotten about the wound on his leg. It must have clotted by now, if not outright healed, but he still feels a pang of guilt at presenting himself so filthily in front of someone so very important.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats desperately.

Even worse, he realizes that he’s slept in Lucifer’s bed in his disgusting state. His throat goes tight at the thought, an all-too-familiar precursor to the rising bile in the pit of his stomach.

It’s not the time-- it’s not the _place,_ even moreso, but he can’t help it as he spirals down into a deep, dark hole of self-repulsion. He should be admonished for this, he will be punished for it, and he does deserve it.

“Sandalphon.”

Lucifer’s voice, gentle as can be, breaks through his heavy thoughts. Sandalphon is suddenly made aware that he’s curled over his chest into a ball and that his knuckles have been clenched so tightly that they’ve gone white. Gradually, he relaxes, and looks up at Lucifer.

“It is alright,” Lucifer half-smiles, again. “I do not mind, and I assure you that I’m quite unharmed. In fact, I would like to start over-- we can treat this as our first introduction, can we not? It would be a much more pleasant memory.”

Deep in his chest, Sandalphon feels something flutter. After what felt like endless weeks of thinly-veiled torture and insults, Lucifer’s words are the kindest things he has heard in his short existence. “I would… like that very much. It’s nice to meet you,” he smiles shyly, and finds that it feels unfamiliar on his face.

“It is my pleasure, Sandalphon,” Lucifer states in a plain, yet warm, tone. “I am not keen on leaving you so soon, but there are arrangements to be made now that I know you are awake. If you would be so patient, I will send a primarch here to tend to you shortly. I trust you do not mind?”

Sandalphon bows his head bashfully. “Of course not, my lord.”

Head down, Sandalphon misses when the same dissatisfied expression passes across Lucifer’s face.

“I see,” he finally breathes. “Then I shall take my leave.”

Lucifer spares nothing else as he makes his neat exit, but Sandalphon still scrambles to his feet to bow in respect. He remains half-bent until the door closes, and with a sinking feeling he recognizes the sound of a lock being latched.

Then, silence.

A wave of exhaustion forces Sandalphon to fall to a crouch, face hidden in his knees as he wraps his arms around his legs and stares down at the floor. Something in his chest feels raw, and empty, and he dreads what punishment Lucifer must have in store for his disgraceful behaviour. His words were kind, so very kind, but what reason does he have to believe that they were anything more than twisted politeness?

His vision is starting to swim with hot tears, so he closes his eyes and shuts everything out for as long as he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's very difficult going back to self-hating Sandalphon, especially after WMTSB3. Poor boy.
> 
> As always, no criticism please, but I love comments.

**Author's Note:**

> I find it rude when strangers comment criticism (constructive or not) unprompted, so please don't! I write fics for my own entertainment.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
